


Ashes of Eden

by BubbleGoth666



Series: This could be heaven or hell [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Betrayal, Concentration Camps, Death, Demon Blood, Despair, Gan Eden | Garden of Eden | Jannah, Gay, God - Freeform, Heartbreak, Heaven, Hell, Historical, Hope vs. Despair, M/M, Nazis, Pain, Queen (Band) References, Religion, Romance, Satan - Freeform, Torture, Tragedy, True Love, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGoth666/pseuds/BubbleGoth666
Summary: "Until the ashes of Eden fall"A statement whose meaning undergoes a drastic change over the centuries Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other.The Second World War was a rough time for people angels, not for demons, who rather danced on the pen of a hand grenade. Except for one. Crowley. Why? Because his fate was interwoven with the one of a special angel and it was precisely this angel who had to be saved.The demon is forced to face the ugliest side of mankind, which swallows him whole, like the purgatory once did.Every superior power seems to have turned away from them.Captured in his own fight, Crowley tries to save the most important treasure in his life.However, what will happen until the Ashes of Eden fall?





	1. Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Let me take a guess, who love those two loveable idiots just as much as I do? But you've come here to read about them suffering, because you need a good cry, also a fine portion of tragic love? Then this fanfiction surely won't disappoint you ( at least I hope so. >~<)  
> If there occur any typos or grammar mistakes, I am deeply apologize. English isn't my first language, however I am trying to improve my writing all the time, so feel free to criticize me or leave a review. I am a grown demon, I can take the hit ;P  
> This fanfiction is mostly based on the TV show and I tried to make it as historically accurate as possible. Enjoy *leaves tissues for you*

Eden.   
There everything had started. The great tournament over the true nature of the human race.

Furthermore, the story of two souls, who couldn’t have been more different. However right from the beginning their fates had been interwoven. Not in the enigmatical plan of the lord and savior, but with each other.

At the first impression, they were two poles fighting for the opposite side. Two puzzle pieces, who didn’t fit together at all. Both of them despised the other with a burning, yet fascinated passion. Neither of them was willing to give in, especially not to lose the battle of their principals. In any case, Crowley had never been more convinced to win a fight. “I won’t stop until the Ashes of Eden fall.” He had sworn himself.

Actually, it had never been the strong conviction that his side was the right one, which had driven him to keep going. Rather his growing displeasure, whenever he imagined the victory of this angel and his party. At least their battle had never been fought by force. Most of the time they had been contented with snappy comments and tensed conversations.

Above all due to Aziraphale’s refusal to use such barbaric means to answer the question: “Is the human nature good or bad?” The nasty moralizer always reasoned his cowardly behavior with his pure heart and an actual fight not being part of the divine plan.

Unfortunately, he had always been right with that. So, their little war went on for quite some time, days turned to weeks, months, years and in the end decades. Only the way of their connection slowly changed rather unexpectedly over the passing centuries.

The more often their paths crossed, the more Crowley had to admit this man was the only constant in his life, besides the never-ending human stupidity. So, with time their exchange of words grew more and more playful. A macabre joke here. An ironic tease there. Nothing too serious.

The realization of them actually sitting in the same boat had hit the demon hard, once they both had been staring at Noah’s Ark. They were only marionettes, controlled by different hands, but fixated onto the same goal: “Winning humanity for their puppeteer.” Of course, they had both chosen different kinds of weapons in this war, however in the end they were only soldiers in a divine or satanic battle.

At some point of their history, Crowly had realized that something about the angel’s attitude towards him had changed as well. Suddenly they were greeting each other like old friends. Sometimes he would even bust himself worrying about his nemesis. Unbelievable. Yet the bitter truth.

The older humanity grew, the less he had to work and the more his enemy seemed to give in. 

Instead, Aziraphale had forfeited human temptations like wine, literature, and food, especially pastry. For the demon a rather pleasant also amusing evolution of his righteous, honorable, and pure character. Without any doubt Crowley had also fallen for some little temptations, but surely not that much. He would never sink to such a level. Never. Also, he wouldn’t have been a fallen angel, if he hadn’t sinned from time to time… Or daily.

Time marched on, the ancient Greece fell, of course with a soft push into the wrong direction. The roman empire went down in flames, basically stabbed in the back by karma. The angel managed an abashing victory during the middle ages, but Crowley quickly corrupted every pope he could get his claws on. Quickly the tide turned.

For a few years the black pestilence raged over the continents. The Spanish inquisition did as well. They delivered souls for of their both sides. The age of enlightenment spilled foil into the purgatory. Countless tragedies but also miracles happened, tipping the scale back and forth without both parties working a lot. Even though the angel still was more diligent than him.

The first world war had been harsh for both of them it had demanded a lot of attention, sugar coated words, blood, sweat and swears. Crowley had caught himself worrying over his immortal “friend” from time to time. However, life had done him the favor of letting their paths cross here and there, so he could check on him.

In the middle of the first world war, his old friend hadn’t been in a good shape. All the despair, darkness, cruelty… While the serpent had felt more powerful than ever, Aziraphale had suffered terribly. His angelic aura had decreased with every innocent soul that had gotten shattered between the battle fronts. 

During that time the demon had tried taking care off his friend, but there had barely been time for having lunch together. Getting drunk with each other. Their usual habits got broken, causing Crowley to feel drained as well.

Humans were plain individuals, always missing out on the bigger picture. He was sick of wasting his time with them, but on the other hand he had no choice.

Finally, Germany got defeated. Those dark times ended. One man’s joy, another man’s sorrow. Well, honestly, the Archangel was feeling better, so they both had gained something out of it.


	2. Another one bites the dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where books are burned, in the end, people will also be burned." ~Heinrich Heine 1823

Then…. Something happened. Something so terrible, not even Crowley, could have imagined in his wildest dreams. Another world war broke out. But this time the rotten and cold breath of death ravaged over the countries with an incredible speed.

The demon had never seen so much destruction, so much despair spread in such a little time. At first, he had been the happiest man alive and spent his nights dancing in the gunpowder and spark filled air of Warsaw, while the civilization around him had gone down in flames.

Another task the humans had fulfilled for him, without any effort on his side. Genocide, homicide, concentration camps, war crimes, death… destruction… structured extinction, music to his ears. He didn’t miss out on the opportunity to notify the head office and claim this victory for himself.

When all of sudden he remembered someone, who wouldn’t feel as amazing as he did while staring down at the burning inferno, that once had been called Berlin. Aziraphale. In that moment his smile died, like a withering flower.

“Fuck.” He hissed, rubbing the bride of his nose. His heartbeat was racing, but not from euphoria, rather due to panic. Immediately his thoughts were overturning. Nevertheless, he was trying finding a hint, where his old friend’s current location was. Damn humans with their delicate, but brain cell wrecking alcohol…

Moscow? No. Rome? No. London! Yes! He had to be in London. Surely hiding with his books. Yessss. He tried convincing himself, for not slipping more into the fear, that was knotting his organs. His position on the rooftop of the Reichstag surrounded by a strange symphony, consisting of the distorted howling of the air raid sirens, bomb impacts and people’s screams wasn’t his most desired place to be anymore.

A sigh left his lips, while he focused on another familiar spot. It took him only seconds to manifest at another place.

Demons weren’t subjugated by the laws of the human physic. At the moment he could still suppress his panic and worry. He was soothing himself with the conviction of having the familiar scent of old books, pastry, lavender, and incense in his nose at any second. Also hearing an upset Aziraphale scolding him, because he never bothered with the doors.

Unfortunately, his feet didn’t touch the carpet covered ground, instead he stumbled into the debris and remains of an old book shop. A blunt pain rushed through his back, when he hit the ground. No… was the first word, that came to his mind. Quickly he got up. He didn’t even care about his expensive clothes being covered in dust.

“NO!” he yelled frustratedly. Distressed he removed his glasses, while his heartrate reached new peaks. Luckily, he didn’t need oxygen, because out of tension he was unintentionally holding his breath. Yellow, snake-like eyes wandered around spotting one tragedy after the other. Books covered the wreckage. Tousled. Torn. Burnt. Pages were laying around, like snowflakes… fragments of a life’s work… an existence.

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley yelled at the top of his lungs, until his voice cracked. His movements became more erratic with every passing second. The ashes on the ground were cold… The impact must have been days ago.

Still he didn’t give up. The shattered shop window crunched under his feet, but he didn’t feel the pain of the pieces cutting through his soles. Currently, he wasn’t feeling anything, but spiking fear. “BE ALIVE YOU BASTARD!!” he yelled into the ruins.

The sunset bathed the macabre scenery in a fiery red, matching the fire that had destroyed all this knowledge. The manifestos of so many existences. Aziraphale’s existence.

Crowley’s hands were bruised by the rough, pointed, and sharp debris. However, he kept moving them away, carelessly throwing them around. He didn’t even know what he was searching for. Or if he wanted to discover something at all… His vision blurred, but he refused to give in to his tears. Why should he cry? He was immortal after all… he couldn’t be dead…? He couldn’t.

“For hell’sss sake…” he hissed. Not even the foundation walls were still existent. They had bombed it to the ground.

The desire to burn humanity to the ground grew with every book-corpse, he brought to light. His whole body was tensed. His thoughts were screaming in his head, but he couldn’t understand a word from them. No pain made it through his nervous system. Adrenaline blocked everything out. He didn’t find anything useful. More and more evidence that his worst fears were true. Nothing else.

After what must have been hours, he gave up. With his back curved, he pressed one of the pages to his chest. A suffocated scream slipped from his lips, transforming into a violent sob. His sharp nails ripped the paper in his grip, while he tried pulling himself together.

The stabbing pain inside of his chest resembling guilt and the shattering knowledge of having lost the only constant in his life, while he had been celebrating so carelessly. What a macabre joke of the divine plan. For one second, he thought about praying, only for hysterically laughing at himself. Never.

That wicked game was played on the backs of the weakest, while the highest powers just watched and laughed their fists off. Neither of their principals cared about the invalid fate of their servants, even though they pretended to.

The only person that had ever cared about him, was gone… they had killed his best friend… He couldn’t bear letting these words slip from his lips; it was captured in his throat by sobs. Rage and Despair fought inside of him, like fire and ice. The cold, entirely numbing acknowledgement of his loss tried to extinguish the hateful raging, hissing flames of despise towards… towards everything. He felt like he was about to explode.

A metallic taste spread over his tongue. While holding the sobs and screams in, he had bit his lip bleeding. One of his hands came up to them, because he hadn’t felt any pain. Crimson red blood dripped onto the ground, causing a soft hiss. Demonic blood burnt like acid. Frustrated he cleaned his face with his sleeve.

Suddenly the rage inside of him merged with the despair, stabbing him into the stomach like a sword. How pathetic he was. Crying like a baby… He leant back, wiping the tears away from his eyes for clearing his sight.

Fortunately, for him because it made an envelope on the floor stand out. He frowned had he been lying there before? Or was he getting crazier? Both was plausible. To his annoyance his hands were still shaking, while he reached out for picking it up. The paper was withered, the wax seal had melted and smudged, burnt holes and cracks adorned its surface.

Without actually knowing the reason for it, he was paying attention to this worthless piece of garbage. Probably out of the poor disbelief that this would make, the tide turns. He tried to open it. By now he discovered that his hands were bleeding as well. “Fucksss.” He hissed, taking his scarf off and wrapping it around his palms, otherwise the paper would run through his fingers.

It took his blurry eyes a while to decipher the messy handwriting. His heart skipped a beat. The language was German. “The Germansss? What?” he mumbled to himself in pure disbelief. All of sudden his head was empty. Only the words echoed inside of his head. Better said in his whole body, replacing the constant throbbing of his heart.

"Sehr geehrter Herr Fell,

Wir schätzen uns sehr glücklich, dass Sie auf unser Angebot eingegangen sind. Es wäre zu schade gewesen, diese kulturellen Schätze unserem Feind zu überlassen. Insbesondere da es sich um Erstausgaben handelt, die dem Deutschen Volk keinesfalls verloren gehen dürfen.

Wir erwarten Ihre Lieferung pünktlich und in vollem Umfang, zum vereinbarten Datum. Kommen Sie pünktlich.

Sieg Heil!

Adolf Strauß"

(Dear Mr. Fell,

We are very happy to hear about your agreement to our offer. It would have been such a pity if we had lost those cultural and intellectual treasures to the enemy. Especially since most of these books are originals, which are very valuable for the German Reich.

We await your delivery on time at the set date. On time!

Sieg Heil!

Adolf Strauß)

Due to his contact to the German leadership, Crowley spoke German fluently, but his nerve wrecked brain needed an incredible long time to process the written word. His eyes widened, until his pupils were almost human like. His heartbeat increased, thundering through his body. An agreement? A meeting? With the Nazis?! Aziraphale, the biggest moralizer in the entire world had made a deal with those… those hellhounds? He could barely believe it. Still it sparked some hope inside of him, which started to melt the metaphorical blade cutting his guts. 

Maybe… Maybe he hadn’t been here during the bomb impact. His body came back to life. Serpent eyes shot up to the date of the letter. 01.06.1940. Two weeks ago. As if a lightning had hit him, he jumped to his feet. The chance was small. Almost void. However, he refused to give up now.

New energy was flooding through his veins, reviving his demonic aura. His eyes started to glow, showing off the purgatory inherent in them. Finally, the cuts on his hands healed, while he miracled himself some new clothes. Those power-hungry, small-minded parasites had messed with the wrong demonic powers. Sometimes the world referred to them as the devil’s personal army, but they had no clue. Crowley would show them.

“There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man  
And bring him to the ground  
You can beat him. You can cheat him  
You can treat him bad and leave him when he's down.  
But there is nothing worse than hurting hissss besssst friend.” He quoted his favorite band Queen, while he waited for his entire power to return to him.

Finally, he felt the familiar sparkling under his skin, signalizing him that his pilot flame was burning again. Instead of simply dissolving into a cold of smoke, his silhouette was framed by flames. With the letter clutched in his hands, he started imagining the Pariser Place at central Berlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My native tongue is actually German, so if you have difficulties to understand something, please don't be shy to ask me for further explanation or transalation.  
> Also the story is slowly getting to the heart, isn't it?  
> Well I am glad I have sold mine years ago to the devil called "Fanfiction writing" ;P Enjoy <3


	3. I want it all! I want it now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bureaucracy is surprisingly not a spawn of hell, even though it has driven many to madness, it was actually introduced by the angels to keep their beloved order.  
> Crowley, on the other hand, has a completely different view of a conversation with an office.

If he wanted to find out who and where that Adolf Strauß was, he needed to ask veeery nicely at the Reich Main Security Office. 

He had dressed up. However not for the simple-minded secretary in the lobby rather for the lazy bastard, whose head he would have to rip off for getting the information he wanted.

He snapped his fingers, knowing his longest and loyal companion would not disappoint him. In the blink of an eye, he could hear the familiar purring of his beloved Bentley echoed in his ears. He pushed up his sunglasses, while the door swung open for him. His baby. 

Right after he had let himself fall into the soft, neat leather seat the door closed, and the radio turned on. His vehicle was almost like a child to him and it knew his father very well. The song that was busting out of the speakers was “Don't stop me now” by Queen.

Due to the constant alarm condition and bomb warning the streets were empty. Actually, he wouldn’t have cared if there had been someone in his way either. His baby could take a lot, so 110 mph through destroyed streets weren’t such a big deal. 

Fortunately, the first bomb rain on Berlin had been yesterday, so most of the intact and working at full speed. Therefore, his conviction that he’d get a hold of the necessary people there. His fingers tapped onto the steering wheel impatiently. 

When all of sudden he hit the brake hard. The seat belt cut into his neck. The voice in the radio wasn’t following the lyrics anymore; someone else was talking to him. 

“Crowley! Where have you been?! You should have given Werner Heisenberg the brilliant idea for solving their instability problem. The German atomic weapon development needs to advance!” his commander’s voice scolded him, but he didn’t have time for that bullshit now. But he couldn’t upset them, or otherwise they may send one of their rats after him. He took a deep breath, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. 

“Oh… damn sorry, I was busy advancing the mass extermination techniques and didn’t make it back on time. I, I will do it tomorrow. I am sorry.” He lied, actually the Nazis had found out about the possibilities of Arsenic themselves, but he had never bothered with to adorn himself with foreign laurels.

“Crowley! It was a set date! How can you act so carelessly?!” the voice kept scolding him, giving him a major headache. 

“I already apologized! Maybe send Hastur. I am pretty sure he would give his ugly right arm for that task.” He suggested, feeling his palms getting sweaty. 

“No! You are our best man, so stop disappointing us and fulfill your given task!” his principal yelled, causing the demon to roll with his eyes. In his head his thoughts were struggling to find an excuse.

“But, but right now there are more important things than atomic weapons?” he tried to make excuses. 

“Oh, and what could that be, Mr. Crowley?” was the sarcastic reply. 

His entire body heated up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Well, the Germans aren’t in such a bad condition at the moment. Maybe we should focus more on their concentration camps since if they win this war, they will build them everywhere for sure.” He stuttered out, being a bit shocked over his scrupulous words himself. 

“hm… not a bad idea… What do you have in stock for them then?” the voice replied, sounding rather curious. 

“Uhm… Uhm…” he faltered. “We… We could tell them to… I don’t know…. Try to… Yes! Yes, we will teach them to build furniture out of the leftovers from the corpses. And… maybe to… experiment with them?” he suggested out of the blue. 

“Crowley… Crowley… you always make me smile. Advance these ideas and turn them in at full moon. I can’t wait. That’s why you’re our best man.” His boss praised him, causing the serpent to sigh in relief. 

“T…thankssss Sir.” He hissed, more making it sound more authentic.

Finally, the music returned. What a relief. A soft smirk danced over his lips, because all his ideas had already been invented by a sick soul, called Dr. Josef Mengele. To his luck hell always was late with their reports due to missing organization and technical advance. “backward, stupid assholes,” he added angrily. 

“What? The connection was bad, what did you say?” the voice asked, causing the purgatory to freeze in his veins. 

“Nothing! I was just scolding myself for forgetting about my task today.” He replied like a shot from a pistol. 

“Oh Mr. Crowley, there’s no need to be so harsh to yourself. You’re one of the cruelest, most scrupulous demon, hell has ever produced. As long as we have you and Christian priests raping kids, we don’t have to worry about our victory.” His chef replied with a dark laugh. 

Afterwards the calming guitar riffs of Queen washed over Crowley again. He hit the gas pedal. Back to business, he had wasted enough time. The motor howled, causing its owner to have a bad conscience for a second. He would make it up to him with hot wax once this was over. For now, he had to reach his destination.

The box shaped structures greeted him with the usual corrosive white and the many columns typical of the German architectural style. Surprisingly, it was hardly destroyed, probably because the German air defense was protecting this district especially. At least that meant, he would find his answers here, Crowley thought while getting out of the car. 

He took the marbled stairs up to the exaggerated front door hurriedly, always two at once. The guards in front of him tried to block his way, bluffed their boring paroles towards him, but he only snapped his fingers, causing them to disappear… wherever, he didn’t care. The doors miraculously swung open for him on their own.

Isabelle Schmid was sitting behind her desk listening to the radio in exertion fearing to hear the name of her husband or another bomb warning for her district. When all of sudden the actually locked doors swung open. Immediately she looked up, awaiting Russian troops, but in the doorway stood only a man. The guards must have let him in, so he was probably wanted here.

Nevertheless, her eyes scanned over him cautiously. He wore a formal black suit, a blood-red shirt, a black tie, and his Italian designer shoes, also a pair of black sunglasses. Even though she was a married woman, this man had an immense attraction on her that she could not explain. Maybe the prominent cheek bones, the clear skin or his ginger hair, that reached his chin and framed his face perfectly drew her to him or he had hexed her? She didn’t know. All she knew was that his warm, friendly voice gave her goosebumps. 

“Guten Morgen Frau Schmid.” (Good Morning Miss Schmid) he greeted her. 

She was so busy wondering why her body was reacting this way, she didn’t even bother that he knew her name. “Guten Morgen mein Herr.” (Good morning Sir) “Ich muss Sie leider informieren, dass wir geschlossen haben, also welches Anliegen Sie auch immer haben, bitte bringen Sie es vor, wenn wir geöffnet haben. Oder haben Sie einen Termin?” (I am sorry to inform you, that we are closed at this time. So, whatever brings you here, could that wait until we are opened again or do you have an appointment?) 

He flashed her a stunning smile, meanwhile he had reached the reception, leaned casually against it. “Ich habe einen Termin.” (I have an appointment.) he lied without hesitation, pulling his glasses down a bit. 

“Wirklich? Wie ist Ihr Name?” (Really? What’s your name?) she asked, sounding suspicious.

“Ihr schlimmster Albtraum.” (your worst nightmare) he hissed, as this stupid turkey decided to ask questions after all. Even though her slow thoughts had wasted the last two minutes wondering how talented he might be in the bedroom. 

She had already opened her mouth for screaming, but he snapped his fingers and she passed out. “As if I was interested in someone like you.” He spat arrogantly and walked past her, to the stairs that led upwards. 

The head office was on the third floor. On his way, he pulled out the letter from his pocket. With a kick, he opened the door in front of him, revealing a rather expected sight. A fat, bald-headed man who was lounging behind his desk and avoiding military service.

“Wie kommen Sie den hier rein?” (How did you get in here?) he yelled, his face turning red with rage. 

“Durch den Vordereingang” (Through the front door) Crowley replied calmly, with a mocking grin upon his face. 

“Was für eine Frechheit! Wie können Sie es wagen? Wer sind Sie überhaupt?” (What an insolence! How dare you? Who even are you?) he kept demonizing him, what a tiring conversation. “Sicherheitsdienst!” (Security) the man called out. 

Crowley was sick of this drama, snapping his fingers for making him freeze. The noise died immediately, causing him to sigh in relief. Even though his heartbeat was racing inside of his chest, the demon made his way to the desk in smooth, relaxed steps. “Sie werden mir nun ein paar Fragen beantworten. Genau genommen nur zwei, das sollte ihr Spatzenhirn nicht überfordern. Wer und wo ist Adolf Strauß?” (Now, you will answer a few questions for me. Actually, only two, that shouldn't overtax your birdbrain.) he stood behind him now, leaning over his shoulder, watching that cowards sweat and shiver in fear. 

“Er… Er ist einer der Generäle… er… er sollte hier in Berlin s…sein für die Konferenz.“ (He… he is one of the generals. He should… he should be in Berlin for the conference.) the fatso pressed out, looking like a carp on land while speaking.

Satisfied with that answer the demon petted his head in a humiliating way “Good boy.” He mocked, while walking out of the room.

After thinking about it for a few seconds, he decided to do the allied forces a favor. Sometimes the misery of one person was more important than the upper hand in a war. 

Once he had passed the doorstep, the entire building miraculously stood in flames. He could hear the shocked yell of the secretary, causing him to smirk, while he walked back to his car. An explosion echoed through the empty streets; shattered glass rained down onto the pavement. But Crowley didn’t bother with looking back. 

“A conference? And they didn’t invite me? What a terrible mistake.” He chuckled, but his smile died down within seconds, when he thought about the situation… This had to be worth it. He had to be alive… he just had to. “Hold on old friend…” he mumbled to himself, while getting into his car. Suddenly he remembered the promise he had made centuries ago. “I won’t stop until the Ashes of Eden fall.” He whispered, shocked at the change that the meaning had undergone. 

Since now… now it meant he wouldn’t stop staying by his side, instead of at the opposite side of the battlefield. He gulped heavily, trying to fight back the upcoming misery. 

No. Focus was necessary now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is written out and if you've reached my notes, that means you've read it all. Thank you~  
> Looks like our demon finally has a hot lead, but will it really lead him to his goal?  
> Oh Aziraphale where are you?


	4. Sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear, guilt and remorse are bad allies when it comes to making a decision. Their mother's desperation has trained their children very well. Nevertheless, drastic situations often require drastic measures. Who could have imagined this misery?  
> The meaning of "Until the Ashes of Eden fall" suddenly undergoes another drastic change.  
> Welcome to project "Ashes of Eden"

Next stop. The secret conference bunker of Adolf Hitler himself.

After all it had been a bad idea to convince him that it was necessary. But who could have predicted this outcome? At least Crowley knew its location, otherwise he probably would have lost even more time. His heartbeat speeded up, whenever his thoughts only went close to the dark corner, in which all those terrible scenarios were in full swing.

His beloved Bentley tried to cheer him up by playing Bohemian Rhapsody. However, he was so caught up in his thoughts; he didn’t even realize the song had changed. His mind still attacked him, because his own conscience wanted to figure out why he was so worried over his… actual nemesis.

Bullshit! They weren’t enemies anymore. They were friends. Best friends. A shiver ran through him, as if his scales were moving under his skin. His demonic side rebelled against this realization. This couldn’t have been less important to his mind.

In between his heart was torn between the battlefronts. On the one hand he should have been happy about the disappearance of the angel. At least his satanic side was. Other the other hand he felt like someone had ripped out one of his wings.

He felt incomplete. As if he had lost his counterpart. Literally he had.

Good couldn’t exist without the evil and the other way around… And he couldn’t exist without that naïve, moralizing nuisance by his side either.

His nails dug into the steering wheel deeper. Slowly he removed one of them, fixing his sunglasses, secretly checking if he hadn’t allowed himself the nakedness of letting a tear slip. What a wicked world they lived in.

Of course, his devilish mind could imagine what they possibly had done to him… However, he needed preventing himself from letting his thoughts slip to those dark places or maybe he would have another tantrum.

In the given situation, not the best option, since he didn’t trust himself at this point anymore. Maybe he would miracle all of the German weapons into confetti canons. Or even worse give the Americans the missing hint to atomic warfare. Who knew, what his twisted mind would think off. 

The worst case would be, if he didn’t find him or even worse was too late. Those two options, only the thought of them made his guts twist and knot.

A soft hiss left his lips. Afterwards, he bit his lip for distracting himself, a habit he had started centuries ago… Something only Aziraphale had ever noticed. He did that when he was distressed or nervous. 

Mostly earning an invitation for a cup of cocoa, which quickly transformed into several glasses of wine. Those memories strengthened his belief… he couldn’t be dead. Not now. They were meant to stick together until the Ashes of Eden fell. 

Whether as enemies or friends, he didn’t even care at this point.

He hadn’t watched out where he was driving or if he had hit something or better said someone. All unimportant. Fortunately, he hadn’t taken a wrong turn at least not with his Bentley, in life probably several times.

The degree of destruction around him increased linearly with the range that separated him from the city center. The same went for the misery around him, but who cared? People were to blame for their own misery.

Nevertheless, he was relieved when he finally left the city limits behind, especially because he could now step on the gas pedal a little harder. The secret bunker was out in the woods, several miles away from Berlin. It wouldn’t have been a problem to simply rush in and pull that general out by his nose if necessary, but it surely wasn’t the greatest idea.

Quickly he checked the time on his watch, followed by frustrated sigh. It was only 1 pm. So, the conference anyhow had already started and wouldn’t finish until deep in the night. Those Germans always wasted a lot of time by losing their temper and kissing the ass of their Führer. Terrible. Just like in hell.

He rolled with his eyes, while forcing his thoughts to come up with a plan. “I am not even drunk today, so don’t fuck with me.” He threatened his own mind, who refused to come up with a proper idea. I can’t miracle my way in and out so easily, my superiors would notice it, he thought annoyed.

The Bentley protested softly, as he exchanged the paved road for a country road that wasn’t refurbished. This would cost him more than just a hot waxing. Crowley sighed once again. Usually he preferred well thought-out, elegant, and clean games. Somehow, he mostly ended up with improvisation.

For a moment he regretted not asking that fat pig if Adolf Strauß had a family, he could have used that to his advantage. Maybe he should risk it and simply assume that he had a wife. The old: “Your wife is on the telephone” Trick had never let him down before.

In the end he could still kill them all and do the Allied forces a favor. Then he’d probably have to corrupt another state, the Soviet Union, or the United States for fulfilling his monthly debit.

In the middle of nowhere, he parked his car. The forest around him laid calm. It wasn’t bothered by the war raging around in the country. Only in the distance the cannon shots and sirens echoed, preventing birds from singing their tunes.

Aziraphale would have complained about that, while Crowley had never attached much importance to it.

Now to one of the unpleasant parts, another change of clothes. Nazis were like dogs, but instead of sniffing on each other’s butts they identified their kind in a similarly stupid way, uniforms, and certain paroles. Sometimes he wondered if all of them were simply retarded. But then he felt sorry for everyone else in the world with a handicap, who would get associated with those morons then.

After he had brushed back his hair, he focused on his clothes. A demonic miracle happened, and he was dressed up in a black leather uniform. His heavy boots echoed through the woods, while he walked towards the “secret” camp.

 

Two guards surrounding it, were clutching to their Modell 43 automatic rifles like toddlers to their rattles. Slowly he approached, causing them to tense even more, all eyes were fixed onto him by now. Fortunately, his black goat with the necessary symbols and the fake medals on his chest, made him look like he belonged here. Actually, like he even had an important role in this game. 

The small hut behind them was basically just decoration. Inside he’d probably find a desk, a few chairs, a card without any pins, most importantly a telephone.

The guards raised their right arms, screaming the usual bullshit, forcing him to echo the gesture. “Sir, mit wem spreche ich Sir?” (Who am I talking to, Sir?) asked the one closest to him.

“Mein Name ist Crowley. Feldwebel Crowley. Ich wurde eingeladen, um eine wichtige Nachricht zu überbringen.“ (My name is Crowley Sergeant major Crowley. I was sent here for delivering a message.) he introduced himself.

The guards looked at each other in suspicion. “Welche Nachricht? Wer schickt Sie?” (What does the message say? Who sent you?) the soldier raked further. The demon put on a serious expression.

“Mich schickt der erste Unteroffizier von General Goebbles. Der Inhalt der Nachricht ist streng geheim und muss umgehend dem Führer überbracht werden.“ (I was sent by the first officier under general Goebbles. The message is top secret, also urgent and the Führer needs to hear it immediately.”) he lied, sounding angrier and more impatient.

But the guards still weren’t trusting him “Wenn das so ist, wieso hat man uns nicht telefonisch verständigt?“ (If that’s the truth, why don't they call us?) one of the asked cautiously.

Crowley gulped; he hadn’t thought about that. Focus… Focus… Then he had a brilliant idea. His expression changed to shocked in seconds

“Ein Anruf?!” he asked completely outraged. “Haben Sie eine Ahnung wie unsicher die Leitungen sind. Wo wurden Sie denn ausgebildet?! Seien Sie froh, dass ich sie nicht gleich melde, wegen ihrer Unfähigkeit!“ (A call?! Do you have an idea, how insecure the telephone lines are? Where did you get your training? Be glad I don’t report you due to a lack of skill!)

Humans were strange individuals, who usually avoided conflicts if they weren’t sure their opponent was inferior. Whenever the bit off more than they could chew, then they whether were suffering from overestimation of their own capabilities or foolhardy heroism. This informal law also applied here, because suddenly the guards were letting him pass. Perfect.

He had to suppress swaying his lips like usually while walking, what a terrible era for the world. Finally, he had reached the small hut. Inside was exactly what he had predicted. He snapped his fingers. A loud, ringing tone echoed through the empty hut for a few seconds. Quickly he picked up, before one of the guards would do it. Now the next difficult task. He left the receiver on the table. In a hurry he left the hut, for reaching the hidden hatch in the floor.

Now he even needed getting his hands dirty. Disgusting. He brushed away the leaves and branches, for opening it. Immediately all eyes from down there, were fixed onto him.

“Was soll das?!” (What’s the matter?) the Führer bluffed, his voiced sounded even more funny in real life. Crowley always had to restrict himself from laughing at the irascible, crazy wretch with the most pathetic beard in the entire universe. The demon’s eyes scanned around, until he found his target. At first, he needed making a foul out of himself and show the Führer respect with the necessary gestures. Finally, he could lure this parasite into the sat-up trap.

“General Strauß Ihre Frau ist am Telefon. Es ist wichtig.” (General Strauß your wife is on the phone, in an important matter.) For a few seconds, that caused Crowley to already lift up his hand for miracling his way out of there, the man’s face showed confusion. But then he nodded and made his way to the door, smiling softly at him.

The silence between them was nerve wrecking, while they made their way to the hut.

Once they were inside the mortal didn’t pick up the receiver into his hands, instead he turned around, facing him. His blue eyes were staring into his soul, if he had possessed one. Well, at least not his own. Suspiciously he closed the door behind him

“Wollen Sie nicht mit ihrer Frau sprechen?” (Don’t you want to talk to your wife?) he asked, maybe this asshole was already suffering from dementia.

“Mr. Crowley don’t try to play games with me.” The general replied, in perfect British English, while a vicious smile spread over his ugly face.

Crowley hadn’t awaited that. He almost took a step back in surprise but forced the man to keep looking at his face in bewilderment. “I don’t play games.” He replied, instantly regretting it.

“Oh yes, you do. You play all of us for fools. But not me Mr. Crowley, or should I better say Crawley?” he replied, in a smooth, mocking tone.

The demon’s eyes lit up with rage. How could this plain mortal dare to speak to him like this? Most importantly, where did he know his old name from? “Who do you think you are? What ssssick game are you playing?” he hissed at him, threateningly he took a step forward.

He would strangle him by hand if he had to. Perhaps this puffed-up military needed a little reminder of whom he was facing here, so he took off his sunglasses. His serpentine pupils shot around with poisonous glances, but this man didn’t bother taking a step back.

“A game? No, this is more than a game.” He answered; a way too calm. Now it was enough. Crowley’s patience snapped, just like him.

He snatched forward like a viper, crashing the back of that miserable mortal on the table while his fingernails firmly bored into the collar of his uniform. “Listen to me now. I have had a very rough day so far, so if you want to ever get out of here alive, you will answer my questions now.” He hissed into his face, showing off his split tongue. To his surprise the man didn’t show any fear, instead he started laughing. What kind of maniac was he?

“Let me take a guess. Your question is, where we hide your little angel, isn’t it?” he mocked him with his tone, his eyes. His entire posture scoffed him.

Immediately he froze, while he repeated those words in his head. His little angel? How the heaven did he know about… Who was that guy? He lifted him und crashed his back against the table surface once again. “I don’t know why you know about him and me not being entirely human, but I don’t care. Answer your own question.” He ordered strictly; his voice shivered with rage.

“And why should I do that? Because you are in the superior position? Who says that?” Strauß challenged him once again. “Let me tell you a funny little story, before you rip out my soul or whatever demons do.” He suggested, still smiling arrogantly directly into his face.

“I wasn’t here for hearing fairy tales. Answer. The. Fucking. Question.” Crowley hissed at him.

“But you would surely like it, it’s about you. And why the suffering of your friend and yours is entirely your fault.” Adolf promised him.

This statement hit Crowley hard. Harder than any bullet. He stumbled back and let go off his collar. “Why should this be my fault?” he asked, his thoughts repeating that sentence until the question mark at the beginning went missing.

“This is your fault” echoed through his mind. Meanwhile the man sat up, fixing his uniform. “You are the one, we used to lure that naïve little dumpling into our trap.” He revealed to him, pointing at the chair beside him.“Sit down and listen to uncle Adolf.” He ordered in a fatherly tone, only increasing Crowley’s nausea.

He sat down. “Me? How should you have done that? I mean I have worked for your side yes, but Aziraphale had nothing to do with that.” He asked confused, staring to the ground, while his mind was going 300 miles per hour, browsing through all the possibilities that could have made this situation his fault.

“Yes, yes, that’s the point. You worked with us. Well… one of our highly esteemed colleagues noticed something supernatural about you.” He informed him with a proud smirk.

“And what has Aziraphale to do with that?” the demon bluffed back angrily. “Wait for it, wait for it. Show a pit of patience.” Adolf mocked him once again. After a break that felt like a lifetime he finally continued to talk. “But it was very clear, that we couldn’t just beg you to win a war for us. We were certain about the fact, that every disaster that had ever happened to our world, somehow was connected to you.

At first, we had been scared, but then we asked ourselves the most brilliant question. “If everything bad in this world is linked to a demon, then everything good in the world must logically be linked to an angel, right?” He nodded and fixed his hair.

“So, our research team worked hard for figuring that out. Indeed, we did. We traced back your history and at certain inflection points, where catastrophes turned into miracles, we found him. Your Aziraphale. This was around two years ago. 

Of course, we couldn’t just capture one of you. We needed to work in the shadows. That was the beginning of the project “Ashes of Eden” my friend. The German Reich needed to secure both of your overwhelming supernatural powers for its Volk. Despite the danger of incurring God’s or Satan’s wrath.

It was also clear that outsmarting this gullible angel would be a way easier than luring you into a trap. Luckily we knew that if he had him, you’d automatically come to us. And here you are.” He announced victoriously.

"Our secret service worked until their eyes bled for figuring out how intimidate and close your friendship was. And surprise, surprise obviously that poor soul cared more about you than anything else. It was so easy for us to lure him into our arms. 

We send him a letter, in whom we claimed that we had captured you and were keeping you locked in the St. Maria’s Church in Berlin, where you were suffering terribly, and we had him to our feet. He became our little marionette, but if we simply had written that out, you wouldn’t have come to search for him like this.

You probably would have burnt the entire empire to the ground or something. So, we made up the book delivery story and bombed that little shop to the ground. What a pity, all those unique books.

At that time Aziraphale had already been taken over by us. We brought him to a special concentration camp we had only build up for figuring out how to turn his divine force into our strongest weapon. Luckily, he wasn’t as resilient as we had thought, so by now he’s… not in such a good condition anymore. We needed to hurry and bring you under our force as well. To be honest you are nearly a week too late.

We had thought after the bombing of the book shop around two weeks ago, it would probably take you five up to seven days to find us. But fourteen days? Maybe we should have tried outsmarting you first. Your arrogance blinded you.” He went on with his monologue every word was like a whip lash to Crowley’s back.

Crowley refused to give in now. He was diligently thinking about a plan that would secure both off them. Unfortunately, the constant reminder of this being his fault and his friend suffering made it very difficult to plan.

“Before you start either rip my heart out or do worse to me, damn my soul into the purgatory blablabla. I have to warn you, if you don’t cooperate now, your friend will get into huge trouble.

One of the first things we found while searching for him, was a sword, that had been linked to his name since the garden of Eden. A flame sword. And you know what are kind these flames are. Yes, purgatory! We got it with a little help of his divine magic. So, if I was you, I would cooperate like a good boy now.” He threatened with a manic smile upon his lips.

The immortal didn’t know what to say anymore. His throat was tied shut. His heartbeat was so fast, he couldn’t tell anymore if it was beating at all. His head was nearly empty. Only filled by pictures of his friend suffering… because of him… always because of him… How matter how he twisted the words of this bastard. It was his fault.

“I…” he started, but he stood with his back against the wall. “I will cooperate, if… if you set him free afterwards. He’s useless to you. The divine power can only be used for doing good and your motives aren’t. Meanwhile my power is only there for causing destruction, suffering, and pain. So much pain.” He tried convincing him. His voice was shaky, he had lowered his head in defeat.

The general thought about it for a few seconds. Then he chuckled and held his hand out to him. “Deal.” He agreed with a malicious smirk that could have been the one of a demon.

“Deal.” Crowley whispered, not even falling had felt like such a huge defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a bit longer, than I had awaited it. However I am very happy with it. Please forgive me any typos or grammar mistakes, it was like 2 am, when the inspiration stroke me like a lightning and I had to write it out. Nevertheless I was very tired.


	5. Too much love will kill you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blessed are the fallen because their souls can no longer fall away from faith.  
> However some poor souls would never turn their back on their belief, sealing their fate, while other's decide to turn around for the greater good...

Their agreement was sealed with a handshake, just like his fate.

At the moment he couldn’t have cared less about that. His thoughts were running in circles, slowly strangling every other helpful idea. Despair started to nest in his chest, bringing its children: guilt fear and regret. So much regret. 

Usually, he was the one who evoked these feelings in others and subsequently enjoyed their agony. Experiencing it himself was worse than every punishment hell had ever executed on him. Well, this was not quite true. The cruel realization that he was the one to blame for the most important person to him being under the force of these monsters was worse than a shower with holy water. 

“If you could do yourself the favor and put your hands forward?” the deep voice ripped Crowley out of his thoughts. He didn’t even pay attention to the scornfulness in his words. Instead, he mechanically put his hands forwards.  
Of course, he wouldn’t accept all of this so easily he still was better than that prick,. But for now, he had to. For the sake of Aziraphale. 

Metal handcuffs hit his skin. At first, he thought their coldness burnt his hands, but it didn’t stop. Instead, it forced him to bite his lip down, suppressing a scream of pain. “What the hell are thosssse?” he hissed angrily, trying to sooth the torture by pressing his limbs close against his clothes. It burnt like they had poured melted silver over his wrists, his skin casted blisters wherever they touched him. “Fuck…” he swore under his breath, trying to keep calm.

“That, my devilish friend, are handcuffs forged in the holy Easter fire, extinguished in holy water and soaked in heavenly magic. I thought you’d like them.” Strauß explained to him with a triumphant grin. 

“N… Nice idea.” The demon stuttered out, trying to miracle them away. However, nothing happened. Even more shocked he stared at his hands. 

“Surprised? We are holding an angel hostage and you still think you can outsmart us with those cheap tricks?” Adolf asked him, furrowing his eyebrows, as if he tried understanding his dumb arrogance. 

“It was worth a try you… you bastard.” The serpent spit the words into his face as if they were poisonous. 

“Poor demon, enslaved by a single, worthless mortal.” The general mocked back, taking a step forward, his eyes were sparkling with exuberant sadism. “Come on, dare again. Insult me.” He challenged the ginger, while shoving his hand into his jacket, as some kind of thread. 

Without knowing what it was that his interlocutor was holding in his hands. Crowley felt fear rise inside of his chest. Still his own pride forbade him to stay silent now. “Then what asshole?” he hissed into his face, his rage covered up the pain caused by the handcuffs, which were etching themselves through his skin. 

The man tsked at him, meanwhile shaking his head, as if he was scolding an impolite child. “Mr. Crowley, you’re forcing me to do this.” He lied, in a voice that sounded almost sorry. However, the bitter truth was, he enjoyed every bloody second of this.

A metallic click echoed through the room. More silver flashed up from under the jacket. The demon took a step back, trying to protect his skin. Unfortunately, the handcuffs limited his possibilities. The general shot forward, pulling his raised hands away. 

An angry hiss slipped from the serpent’s lips, when suddenly the pain of ten thousand volt shot through his entire buy. An agonizing scream emerged from his lips. Without any warning he felt his legs giving out, as if a sledgehammer had hit him into the spine.

His nerves were so overwhelmed. His eyesight started to flicker. Breathing got more and more difficult, while a thousand thorns dug into his throat. If his brain had functioned right at this point, he would have yelled: “What the hell is this?” but he was too busy trying not to pass out. The entire body was shaking, his muscles refusing to obey him. Finally, the pain lessened, instead polarized around his neck. Tears of pain had collected in the corners of his eyes, while his hands shot up to his throat. A loud hiss followed by the disgusting smell of burnt flesh proved his suspicion. 

A collar. 

His eyes widened in shock even more. How could they dare… but…? Why was it burning so much? Due to his hands already being numb, he didn’t realize the contact with the metal was etching his flesh. Desperately he tried ripping it off, only causing it to touch more of his skin. Every time sending a new jolt of pain through him. Hot blood dwelled out of the injuries, soaking his clothes. 

Once again, his view started to flicker. Could this get any worse? Yes. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious, was the utterly satisfied, scornful smile of that monster towering over him. 

“Welcome to hell Mr. Crowley.” He purred into his ear threatening. 

There was one positive aspect about passing out, both his mind and the torture were silenced by darkness. During his immortal existence he had already endured some suffering. So far, he had only fainted once. While falling from heaven to hell. 

It had been an inconceivable pain. As if they had ripped out every nerve from his body for assembling them back together, forging them in purgatory. They had bathed his wings in boiling pitch. All the innocent white had been been consumed and replaced by darkness. The crowning glory had been the shattering of his halo, when he had hit the rock bottom. The shards had rained over his body, cutting, and etching through his skin. His eyesight got blurred by them piercing his eyeballs. All of the angelic blue was drowned in his own blood. The few hours of transforming into a demon had felt like decades… 

Whenever he remembered this incident, he had to hold back vomiting.

The ache unleashed from the collar around his neck, nearly felt as bad as falling. There was one significant difference. His determination. Right now, he was so determined to get through this, not even such agony, could stop him. 

During his angelic life he had never cared about anyone, while nobody had cared about him either. In heaven they all claimed to be there for each other, that they were a huge family. In reality they all just tried to reach the highest level of power and wealth. Sometimes he had the feeling that heaven was worse than hell, but better at hypocrisy. Also, cleaner. 

Here and now, there was one soul who cared about him. One pure, naïve soul that had probably endured the same amount of pain, maybe even worse than him… Only for him… Aziraphale… 

The guilt hit his guts with a sledgehammer once again. However, it snapped back the ability of his muscles to sense something. Slowly his mind started forming proper thoughts again. A deep, pained groan left his lips while he tried to blink. Some gloom flickered through his eyelids. 

Finally, he realized he was moving. Those bastards. The muted sound of a car-engine sneaked into his ears. His muscles refused to move, they were stiff and drained from the pain. At least he could breathe again, still with a stinging pain in his neck.

Usually, demons didn’t have to breathe, but in such a state his humanoid body was thankful for every source of resource. Opening his eyes costed him more power than every miracle. The light around him burnt his iris, causing him to hiss. A few blinks were enough to soothe them. At least he could finally recognize his environment. A cage. 

Those stunted humans had tied him down on the wooden floor of a huge cage, like a dangerous animal. Even if he had been free, he wouldn’t have been able to move a single centimeter. Over the cage they had thrown one of the camouflaged blankets, to hide their abomination from the rest of the world. The road the army vehicle was on, was very bumpy. Whenever they hit something, the tarp exposed some golden sunlight, that burnt his eyes once again.

Finally, he gained back the ability to form a reasonable thought. In the current situation, he needed keeping calm. Even though inside of him his emotions nearly caused his chest to burst, he tried to figure out, what he’d do now. 

His common sense told him, that they wouldn’t stick to the agreement at all. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel a single spark of hope inside of him. As long as he could get his best friend out of there, all this agony was worth it. However, the more he thought about it the worse the situation appeared. Their precaution to seal his ability to let miracles happen, limited his possibilities immensely.

Perhaps he should focus on getting rid of these handcuffs first? Definitely. Almost scared he glanced down at his wrists, feeling his breath hitch at the sight. The silver had eaten into his skin so deeply, he could see the bones shimmering under burnt flesh. His nerves had already given out there and went numb. Damn. 

With all his concentration he tried moving one of his fingers, but only earned a painful shivering. At least they weren’t paralyzed. Still, escaping would be a lot more difficult than he had assumed it. His head fell back in despair, hitting the floor. 

"Out of sight out of mind" didn’t work at all still he closed his eyes. What should he do? Trust them? Never. Cut his hands off? No, neither did he have a knife, nor would it remove the collar from his neck. Ask his supervisors for help? They wouldn’t care. Or better said probably would give him another promotion for making that the angel suffer. 

So, they maybe would get him out of that situation, but never Aziraphale. His opportunities shrunk with every second until only one was left… Praying. Even the word made his guts cringe. 

Somehow, he wondered by Aziraphale’s principalities hadn’t saved him yet. They were stricter when it came to him missing out on reports. Usually, they should have noticed and saved him by now. Expect if he… 

The realization made his eyes widen, causing them to burn again. “Argh.” He groaned, biting his lip down, hissing: “that… kind-hearted, stupid bastard.” Of course, he would have never told them to get him out of there. Especially not if he was still blinded by the disbelief that the Nazis had Crowley under their control. He felt a lump forming in his throat, as if he was close to crying. Nevertheless, he would never allow himself to shed a tear. Especially not now. 

Furthermore, he had a new option now. Even though his tongue twisted by the thought of praying, he needed to tell them. Once his old friend was free, he could start to think about his own escape as well. How should he reason his actions? A demon praying for an angel to be saved, probably isn’t the best idea… His thoughts were colliding like a car crash. 

“Fuck!” he growled, closing his eyes again in defeat. Whether it was the despair, that slowly involved into madness or his priorities he decided to take the risk. What should they do to him? Tell his supervisors? As long as they got his old friend out of there in the meantime, he’d take the holy water shower. Probably it would save him from a lot of torture anyway. 

His nails dug into the wooden floor, while he forced his damaged lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible. The slight taste of metallic blood spread over his mouth. He sighed. Perfect. Nevertheless, he tried remembering the lines he hadn’t spoken in centuries. Back in his angelic days, they had been upon his lips all the time. They’d been his mantra, his purpose…

At the day he had fallen, he had abandoned them. Actually, he had sworn himself if they’d ever slip from his mouth again, he’d cut his tongue out.

“Pater Noster,  
qui es in caelis,  
sanctificetur nomen tuum.  
Adveniat regnum tuum.  
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra.  
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie.  
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,  
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.  
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem: sed libera nos a malo.  
Quia tuum est regnum et potestas et Gloria in saecula.  
Amen. “

The first lines caused his tongue to cramp, refusing to obey, but he forced himself to go on. His throat went dry, like the collar was getting tighter with every word. Finally, he finished those nasty words. Now the difficult part. 

“Gabriel, can you hear me? Come on you, arrogant pigeon, I know you can hear me. Pick up! For once in a lifetime do something useful and listen to me!!” he yelled, not minding if his hostage takers would hear him. His despair grew with every second he wasn’t receiving an answer. Then he snapped “FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE GABRIEL… I AM BEGGING YOU!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“What is it you foul fiend?” the voice of the archangel echoed through his head, worsening his throbbing headache. However, his relief out weight the pain. 

“Gabriel…” he whispered in relief. “Gabriel, it’s important! The humans have taken Aziraphale hostage for using his divine powers for themselves.” He burst out. “You have to save him, before… before…” he stumbled over his own words, not able to speak off those terrible things. 

“We know.” The Archangel answered casually, while Crowley was still trying explaining the situation to them. 

“Before they make his powers their own and doom the wor- WAIT?!” his eyes widened in shock once again. His entire body tensed, causing the pain to jolt through it over and over. 

“You know? How can you know? I mean…” he could barely find any words to express his shock and anger at this point. “Then why hasn’t anybody ssssaved him yet?!” he yelled back all of sudden.

“He’s soft. And a traitor. He was captured while he tried protecting you. The divine council has turned its back on him. He will either fall or die.” Gabriel replied completely carelessly. 

“What… But he’s… he has been loyal to you all these centuries… You can’t just let him die… We both know he will never fall from grace!” he was close to sobbing, but still tried to sound reasonable. “Don’t… Don’t punish him for my mistakes! He never… it was all my fault! Help him out of there… Gabriel…” he begged fully despaired. 

“No. He knew he was playing with fire. Unfortunately, it was clear it would burn him sooner or later. Now, stop wasting my time, the chorus is waiting for me.” He replied a hint of sadism hidden in his voice. Obviously pleased with the outcome of their arrangement. 

“GABRIEL YOU FUCKER!! DON’T HANG UP NOW… Gabriel…” Crowley felt a few hot tears stream down his cheeks. How could they? They, who always pretended to be the better, the greater, the righteous side, leave one of their loyal comrades to his death… This had to be a nightmare… all of this. 

He curled up as much as he could… Now there was only one option left… praying to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! This means so much to me!  
> I am trying to finish this fanfiction soon, so please hold on. The same goes for our demon, he definitely has to hold on now. Let's pray for his angel as well, will he fall? Ineffible.


	6. I got nobody left to believe in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's state of mind his decribed best with a quote of Queen's song: "give me somebody to love"
> 
> They say I'm going crazy  
> They say I got a lot of water in my brain  
> Ah, got no common sense  
> I got nobody left to believe in  
> Yeah yeah yeah yeah
> 
> However, who wouldn't slip into madness after you've nobody left to believe in?

This call would definitely seal his fate.

No matter, how this would turn out they'd see him a traitor and either leave him to the cruel experiments of mankind or eliminate him themselves. Basically, he had nothing to lose anymore. Expect for his best friend, who he was determined to save.

Hell or better said demons were always open for trades as long as they were in their favor, one-sided and contained the suffering of their victim. Fortunately, he could serve them with all these things at the appropriate time. For once they'd be pleased, that he was asking for a favor. At least he didn't have to humiliate himself and beg them to answer his call, like that archangel wanker. 

After he had taken a deep breath, he let his life expire inside of his head one more time. Damn, after the 14th century his existence really had taken a very pleasant turn. All these temptations, guilty pleasures, and other abominations. He had been a master of his trade. Actually, his life had been quite fulfilling, he thought. 

Then a picture flashed up in front of his eyes. A prominent smile. The most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Brown orbs filled with so much love and hope. Flawless teeth, perfect lips, sweet wrinkles around the edges of his mouth... He sighed this was the point of no return. He had to be honest with himself now...

Otherwise, his damned soul would never make peace with the fading of his existence. Those lips he had always desired to kiss. To taste. To feel. If he was honest, he would know it all along. A few decades after the fall of the roman empire he had realized it... He had lost his heart to that angel. To a bloody angel.

Of course, he would have never admitted that... At the beginning he didn't even want to believe it himself. He had convinced himself, that those feelings would vanish over the years. However here he was, being the one to blame for the... the most precious soul on this entire planted -no, the entire universe- had fallen into heaven's disgrace. Also got tortured by those maniac megalomaniacs. 

He felt like losing his mind. To be honest he wasn't sure if his sanity even existed anymore. A despaired, high-pitched chuckle slipped from his bruised lips. The burning hate towards all higher instances boiled up inside of him. It was all their fault!

Their eternal quarrel about who was more powerful had already demanded thousands of souls... But this time? This time they had gone too far. An angry hiss slipped from his lips... He was pretty sure he wouldn't make it out of here alive. 

However, if he miraculously survived, he'd choose their side. Aziraphale's and his side. Then he'd make them pay... The thought of revenge soothed him a little. Dumb fantasies. They wouldn't save him anyway.

For a few bitter-sweet seconds, he allowed himself to indulge in memories... Memories of the better days. Back then, when he didn't have to worry about the state of his angel, because he had known they would always be the constant in each other's lives. Their dinners. That soft, slightly intimidated smile, he had flashed him whenever they had gotten closer to each other. His angelic voice, "forgiving" him everything he had ever done. This time... This time he wouldn't forgive him.

Crowley didn't want to be forgiven. 

A few more tears streamed down his cheeks, when he remembered Aziraphale calling him "my dear." That was true. He had always been his dearest and longest friend, still the demon had never managed to call him by another nickname than "Angel". In his eyes he had always been the only true angel, in this damned hellhole they called the universe.

His head hit the wooden floor painfully, when they drove over another bump on the street. The pain shot through his body, challenging his bruised nerves. The shock enabled him to pull himself together. Right focus. "Laudate dominus tenebris, et in tenebris copias, ut audiat" (Praise the dark emperor, may the forces of darkness hear me!)" he hissed as clearly as he could.

It didn't take longer than a few seconds, when the Hastur's annoyed voice echoed through his head. 

"What the hell is it Crowley?" Never before had Crowley been so happy to hear that bastard's voice. 

"Hastur! I..." he didn't know what to say at first. 

"What? Usually, you don't have a problem talking either, flashy bastard. Did you mess up something?" he asked full of anticipation. 

For a second Crowley wanted to directly hang up again, but he took a deep breath. Pride was misplaced here. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. "Kind... of." He admitted embarrassed.

Immediately, he felt the prong break from his crown as soon as he had confessed this. His colleague escaped a high-pitched, malicious snicker. "Oh, oh, oh Crowley what is it?" he asked excitedly, barely able to contain his gloating. 

"Okay. It's enough now, you retarded, old-fashioned bastard." He hissed back, obviously angry now. "I have underestimated the humans. They lured me into a trap. I am currently tied up in the back of a van." He started explaining his situation, but he only earned an even louder laugh. 

"Enslaved by humans. The great Crowley!!" Hastur sounded like he was about to go insane. 

"SSSSHUT IT!" the ginger ordered strictly. Who knew when they'd arrive at their destination, he was running out of time! 

"Alright, Alright. So, what do you want? Want me to come over and save your arrogant ass?" the older demon asked, still interrupted by snickers.

"Actually... No." Crowley admitted, taking a deep breath. This was harder than he had thought. The constant aching inside of his chest reminded him of the importance of his actions. 

"What? What else do you want?" Hastur bluffed surprised. 

"Mankind has found out about our existence they are aware of the fact that demons and also angels exist. That's not the worst part. They have captured Aziraphale and me, for using our powers for winning this war. And... It's all my fault." He began but got interrupted again.

"WHAT?! How could this happen? For Satan's sake! Crowley you're dead meat to us! This is more than a failure. Why don't you miracle your ass out oft here, so we can give you the necessary punishment. How did they even capture you?" he hissed into the phone, still full of joy. 

"I can't they have used divine powers to block my abilities. However, listen to me now. I know I am dead meat." Crowley replied, slightly beginning to worry. "You need to stop them from gaining to much power. Please free the angel from their force! We can't risk that they have divine power up their sleeves or even turning it against us!" he begged, sounding almost despaired. 

"Who cares about that bloody angel? Be glad, he's gone. Also, he's definitely not our department. You sound like a nasty traitor." Hastur denied his beg, sounding disgusted to the bone. 

Crowley took a deep breath, who had thought sealing one's own fate was that difficult? "How stupid can an immortal creature be? Obviously, the upper department isn't going to save him. So, we are weakened, since nobody stops the Nazis from gaining holy powers. They have already enslaved me!" he contradicted, trying to sound annoyed again. "I don't care if I get blamed for this. Hastur get him out of there. NOW!" he ordered strictly.

Immediately all the snickering, also joy died down on the other side of the phone. "Crowley... You are not in the position to give anyone orders here. Your sacrifice to save this damned angel is definitely treason." He stated angrily. 

"Let it be treason. I don't care. I can offer you a deal. Get him out of there. Leave me to them, or you can bath my head in a pool of holy water yourself but get him out of there. You will never be forced to see my face again. Hear my voice. You even could take my place up here. Come on Hastur. You'd give your right arm for my position! The principalities would love you. Hastur the great defeater of mankind!" he tried convincing him. To his disappointment he only earned another manic laugh 

"Forget it. I will not save anyone. This problem, your problem, will solve itself. You are a traitor Crowley. I always knew it. And now? You will get the punishment for that. You and that disgusting angel. Enjoy your last days on earth. I hope they are painful." With these words the Duke of hell hung up 

"NO! NO!" Crowley yelled after him, but only silence remained. The line was dead. Pure rage took control now, causing him to rip onto his ties in a tantrum. He struggled against the restraints, while he swore and screamed like a maniac. Unfortunately, his body wasn't in the condition to keep up with that energy level. As a result, he passed out once again.

The cover was pulled down from the cage, flooding it with burning sunlight. It banished the darkness, which had comforted the worn-out demon for the last hours of his transport. A metallic rattling followed, while the two soldiers undid the chains around the cage, they had attached rosaries to it. While the guards were working, general Strauß stood there, admiring his newest achievement.

Crowley's body was too weak to fight back. They detached the chains from the bottom of the cage, but he didn't stay up. Instead, they had to pull him out, making his back land on the cold ground. Finally, his perception worked again. After a few dizzy blinks, his serpent eyes adjusted to the daylight. 

"Aufstehen!" (Get up!) one of the guards ordered, pulling on his collar, as if he was a dog. At first it choked him, then burnt his flesh, causing him to groan in pain. Actually, his muscles refused to work, but he forced them to stay up. There was only one option left. Managing to escape somehow. With Aziraphale.

His lowered head rose up, for scanning their surroundings. Finally, he knew why the streets had been so bumpy all the way. The stood on top of a mountain. The area was bordered by a meter-high barbed wire fence, with gun turrets in between. They were enthroned threateningly above everything and their windows stared down at the small camp like falcon-eyes. Not even a mouse could have run across the huge open place in the middle without being noticed by them. 

To his surprise they weren't any other prisoners here. No barracks. Only three plainly built, box-shaped, grey concrete blocks with high chimneys. All of them had barred windows, blocking out almost every sunray, also every spark of hope. The entire place had a deadly aura. This camp stunk off despair, fear, and death... Not a surprise.

The gravel under their feet crunched, while they approached one of the buildings. In front of it stood four guards, with machine guns. This had to be the place, where they'd hold them hostage. Crowley nearly fell to the ground. Every step felt like as if there were anvils tied to his angles. Still he kept stumbling after the general in front of him. 

Damn, how much he despised that man.

They passed by two other buildings, one of the was slightly taller. The inconspicuousness was almost frightening. There they had to do their disgusting experiments; he was sure. The smell of blood nestled in his nose, proving his suspicion. 

All of sudden a different smell tickled his nose. His eyes widened. Without noticing it, he ripped onto the chains, while turning towards the building. The smell off lavender, incense and... and old books. His guts cringed. Aziraphale. They kept him there. He wanted to run. To rip that door open and save him... 

"Weitergehen!" (Move!) the guard ordered strictly, ripping onto the collar, so he was struggling after them again. 

"I will help you my friend..." he whispered silently. A loud growl left his lips, when they opened the door of his "new home."

Inside everything was dark. However, his night vision didn't do him a favor here. The walls were covered in white tiles, easy to clean.Nevertheless, they were stained with blood... He knew whose blood this was... His nausea intensified. 

In front of him laid two cells both of their bars different. One metal had a slightly darker shade while the other one was completely silver. The room was soaked in the smell of fear and despair. On top of that with Aziraphale's smell. Barely any torture could have been worse. "Where is he?!" he yelled at Strauß, slowly losing the last rest of self-control. 

"He's currently receiving his daily treatment. Don't be jealous, tomorrow you will get it as well." The general replied with a sadistic smirk. 

"Let him go! We had a deal!" Crowley demanded, shooting forward, but the guards hit his back with their clubs his legs gave out. He hit the cold, tiled floor with a loud groan.

"Plans have changed, we won't set any of you free." Adolf Strauß announced with a vicious chuckle. "But don't worry, you soon will feel at home." He promised him his voice soaked in sadism 

"You bastard... you... lying wanker... I swear to Satan if I ever get out of here..." Crowley started threatening him. Suddenly, they grabbed his legs and threw him into the cell with the lighter bars. The impact on the wall made his spine dug into his lungs, he gasped for air.

"Good night Mr. Crowley." Strauß wished him, before slamming the door shut, leaving him to the darkness of the room and his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the tension is building my friends~  
> Praying, confessing nothing has worked so far, to get someone to help them. Poor Crowley. Also, he still hasn't seen his true love again, let's see if he will be able to bear with that sight.  
> Today was a very productive day. Thank you for all your support!


	7. Only the good die young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White feathers get stained with dirt and blood, due to the cruelty of humanity.  
> The crushing realization of guilt dares to shatter Crowley into pieces.  
> The condition of his angel is worse than ever... and still he needs to get even worse for it to get better.  
> Ineffable pain for the Ineffable plan of OUR side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :)  
> Thank you all for your loyality and your support!   
> I appreciate every review and Kudo you give me.  
> I am sorry it took me so long to update this story, but I was busy with university stuff.   
> I hope you enjoy my new chapter. I have tried to set your critique into practice.   
> Bring tissues ;)  
> Trigger Warning: insanity, gore, despair!

   
“Fuck!” he yelled, through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, his numb hands slumped onto the floor beside him.

This was all his fault. Why had he over-estimated his own abilities? Especially since that was one of the traits, he had always critiqued the most about either heaven or hell. Here he sat now. Useless. Humiliated. Just like all of them. A tool for the higher purpose of another party.

All of their principalities had let them down. Left them here to croak. Those bastards. If his rage hadn’t filled out the whole inside of his chest, he would have already curled up on the floor crying. This was all so unreal.

Not even in his darkest nightmares he could have imagined ending up under the force of a bunch of Nazi pigs. The name of his best… no… the name of the love of his life carved into his soul with holy water, mixed with guilt. “For satan’s sake, why him?” he mumbled, not caring about the fact he was talking to himself. 

His nerves were shivering due to the boiling rage inside of him. He felt like a caged-up animal. His “claws” dug into the fabric off his sleeves, his knuckles turning white. By now his jaw was so tensed, he felt like his teeth were extracted with a rusty pair of pillars. He tried relaxing only causing a suffocated sob to escape his petrified body. A panting breath followed. Apparently, he had forgotten to inhale for the past minutes.

Blankly he stared at the wall across the room. Due to the missing daylight in the room, the white tiles appeared grey. Yet the blood stains stuck out extremely.

Blood stains… Blood stains who weren’t supposed to be there. Blood stains who had no permission to even exist. They were mocking him. Witnessed his failure. Stared back at him like thousand blood-red eyes. They ate through his flesh, directly into his guts. None of them blinked. He was hypnotized, at the same time disgusted by them. A testimony for his angel’s suffering.

He couldn’t take it. Suddenly he snapped out of the rigidity induced by shock, causing his hands to shoot up to his face. The sharp pain of his nails digging into his skin didn’t bother him. As long as he could cover his eyes. Hot blood dwelled out of the scratches his fingernails left on his skin. 

Maybe if he tore off the skin from his face, the pressure inside of him would escape from his head. The chains of the handcuffs burnt into his skin as well. Branded him with the marks of defeat. 

If he had been in control of his body, he would have screamed. Just screamed. Cried. Sobbed for forgiveness. Pointless attempts to prevent himself from slipping into insanity. 

His breathing turned into uncontrolled gasping, causing his lungs to fill with needles instead of oxygen. Immediately his hands scratched down to his neck, trying to fight off the invisible hands that were choking him. 

The battle with himself turned into a fight of agony. 

Inside of his mind the pressure increased with every thought. Every evidence of his failure. Choirs of mockery echoed in his mind. Maniac snickers. The accusations were the worst. “STOP IT!” he yelled out; his voice was hoarse, close to cracking. A violent sob followed. 

“I AM SORRY…” he whimpered over and over, trying to ease their anger. “I am so sorry…” his muscles gave out in that extreme state of panic and despair, causing him to fall to the cold ground. There he curled up.

He didn’t know how long he laid there. How often he had yelled at the imaginary judges. How much he had cried… Never before he had failed like this… All these centuries he had never lost so overwhelmingly. From now, since back then in Eden…

Eden…

All of sudden, his demons were banished by one sentence. A few words, yet so powerful to silence the rampage inside of his body.

“Until the Ashes of Eden fall…” slipped from his bruised lips, like the last prayer of a wounded soldier.

Finally, the control over his body returned. Eventually, he managed to relax his tired muscles. Fatigue was trying to take over him now, but he resisted the urge to flee into sleep. Instead, he forced his shivering hands to push him up from the cold ground. 

“Until the Ashes of Eden fall.” He repeated, this time a little more confident. During the past hours his body had gotten used to the pain. So, the unbearable torture had turned into a terribly painful, constant throbbing of every nerve in his body. After a few calming breaths, he managed to lean with his back against the cold wall. Eyes closed so he could focus on his own thoughts. The few that weren’t completely insane yet.

He needed getting them out of here. Or at least Aziraphale. Long ago he had sworn himself he wouldn’t stop fighting against him until the Ashes of Eden fell… Here and now he wouldn’t stop fighting for him until the Ashes of Eden fell… 

Fell… Fallen… FALLING! That was it! That was the key… He didn’t know if this idea was a brainwave or pure madness. A wince shot through his body when he thought about the pain off falling. Still, it couldn’t be worse than dying after weeks of being tortured alive. On every other day in his life, he would have done everything to prevent the angel from falling. 

Right now, it was their only hope. Apparently, the only way out of this hell, was marching through the real hell. If he could convince Aziraphale to fall from his belief, he’d fall. Afterwards, all the restraints would be useless. They’d make it out of here… alive…

A strange mixture out of hope and despair caused a new shot of adrenalin to rush through his veins. He’d stay by his side while falling… take care of him afterwards. This was their only chance. A hoarse snicker escaped him. 

Afterwards, he’d be the reason why the Ashes of Eden would fall… It would bury the heinous Nazi regime and soak up their blood. If he had had them with him, he’d put his sunglasses back on. 

It must have been around midnight. At least Crowley’s sense of time told him that. Silence filled the air of the cell, only interrupted by the demon’s heavy breath from time to time. His head shot up, when he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Immediately his thoughts were silenced. 

With all the concentration he had left, he tried to figure out how many soldiers were approaching. The crunching of the gravel made it difficult to count the number of people. One… two… three… four… he counted. Their steps were too weighty. Maybe they carried something? Now his interest was awoken fully. 

Like a bug he crawled towards the bars of his cell, staring into the darkness, where the door was supposed to be. Of course, he made sure not to touch them. “Come on… Come on… Be with them…” he mumbled to himself. Yellow eyes shot through the darkness impatiently. A metallic screeching ripped the silence like a bullet, followed by the sound of the keys being turned in the lock. 

The darkness outside was a whole different kind than the one inside the dungeon. It was lighter, less heavy. Quickly it fought back the despair-soaked darkness inside. Nearly Crowley’s face would have touched the bars, while he unintentionally crawled closer. The tension inside of him build up more and more. Almost ripping his muscles. 

“Aufpassen!” (Watch out!) one of the guards ordered, while stepping inside first. His strong back was facing him, blocking the view. Two other hulking men entered the room. They were carrying something on a stretcher covered under a white, blood stained fabric.

Crowley’s heartbeat stopped, only for starting again three times as fast as before. His entire body was shivering again. By now his guts were cramping so much, he was close to vomiting. “Aziraphale…” he whispered in pure defeat. None of the horror scenarios in his mind could have prepared him for that terrible sight. 

“Verdammt, wieso ist der Bastard so schwer? Sie haben ihn doch seit Wochen ausgehungert?“ (Damn it, why is this bastard so heavy? I thought they had starved him for weeks now?) one of the soldiers complained. 

An angry growl slipped past Crowley’s lips. He wanted to rip them into pieces, shove their hearts up their asses… Humans were simply disgusting creatures. For him they truly were the reflection of god.

They sat down the stretcher in the middle of the other cell but did not remove the fabric. What had they done to him, so they needed covering him like this? Crowley was dying to find out. At the same times dying to not look at this horrible sight. It would burn itself into his memory forever… “leave…” he hissed towards them. Luckily, they didn’t speak a single word English apparently and just ignored him.

Finally, they slammed the cell door shut. “Abrücken!” (March off!) The leader of the guards allowed them. The skinheads turned around on their heels. Years of training paid off. They didn’t even dare to look any other way than right outside the door. Crowley was glad, they didn’t. 

His attention was glued to the white silhouette on the opposite side of the room. “Aziraphale…?” he whispered, barely audible. The fear of what was about to be revealed made him hesitate. Could he face him now? In this state? Would he be angry? Sad? Even able to talk? There was no other way than finding it out himself. “Aziraphale…” he called out once again. 

His entire body refused to move. He was frozen in place. Not even the painful throbbing inside of his body caused him to shiver. Neither the collar, nor his panting breath, nor his chains were torturing him anymore. Only the uncertainty if his angel was still alive.

“AZIRAPHLE!” he called out in pure despair; his voice cracked halfway. Hot tears dwelled up again, nearly blinding him. “Please…” he whimpered. Something he had never done before… Beg… “Please… It’s me. Crowley! Crawley! I don’t care… Aziraphale.” He continued pleading, slithering closer to the dangerous bars. “This is all my fault…” he burst out. “I am so sorry…” he sobbed harder, being grateful for not needing oxygen.

He felt like crippled vermin. Suddenly his knees gave out. He fell to the ground in front of the bars, that separated them. Blurry eyesight tried catching a single sign of life. “For god’s sake… please.” He whispered in agony. With his last strength the tried to reach out for him.

His arms ached, while the chains ripped open the wounds around his wrists. He didn’t care. Without paying attention to his own pain, he stretched his entire body. The chain between the left and right handcuff got stuck at the bars. A hissing sound echoed through the cell, followed by the smell of burnt flesh. “Argh!! Fuck!” he swore, when his palm of his right hand got burnt by the steel. 

Still he didn’t give up. With his index finger he tried getting a hold of the clothing that hid his friend from. His breath panted harder. He gritted his teeth, biting his tongue. A few swears slipped from his lips. With two fingers he managed to get a hold of the surprisingly heavy fabric. 

“I am here…” he whispered, hoping to spend his angel a bit of comfort, even though he still wasn’t sure if he was still alive. He took a deep breath and tried to rip away the cover. Due to his weak state, he couldn’t remove it. Instead, it slipped a bit to the side. Defeated Crowley fell to the floor, his face resting on the cold floor. Rock bottom.

He was about to give up. Simply give in. When an invisible movement caught his attention. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. But he forced them to focus. They were fixed onto the top ending of the stretcher and… there it was… it raised up and down nearly unnoticeably. It was there… he was there… “alive…” the demon breathed out in relief. 

Even though he couldn’t have been happier about this realization, he couldn’t bare starring at him all the time. It only reminded him off all the torture, the pain… the misery. His head turned to the side. Now he was staring at the wall opposite to Aziraphale’s cell. 

There on the ground laid something, that was valiantly curbing the darkness around it. A white spot. Like a star in the night sky. A shimmer off hope. The longer he looked at it the sharper he could see it. It was feather… An angel’s feather. He felt the lump in his throat grow. 

Over there in a puddle of dirty water laid one of Aziraphale’s feathers. Soaked with mud… and… blood. The symbolism in this was so crushing, Crowley felt like going insane once again. The feather over there had been plugged by these monsters… stained with blood and dirt… broken… besmeared with their terrible intentions. Yet it was still glowing. Spending hope… 

He would reform Aziraphale’s innocence.


	8. Angelic Virtues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castitas, Temperantia, Caritas, Industria, Patientia, Humanitas, and Humilitas are the seven virtues every angel knows by heart. But what happens if the love they hold for someone overpowers their principals, will that cause them to fall?  
> Aziraphale hasn't fallen, but still finds himself vaguely sauntering downwards into the darkest abyss of human history. Right there Crowley and he are destined to meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating frequently these days, I have been in a lot of stress lately.  
> Hopefully that will get better now.  
> This is my first time writing out of Aziraphale's view for so long, I hope it turned out well. Enjoy reading and thank you for loyality and feedback <3)

~Flashback!~

 

The virtues of an angel sounded simple, as long as they were only words, taught in Aziraphale’s training.   
Castitas, Temperantia, Caritas, Industria, Patientia, Humanitas, and Humilitas always had been his companions throughout his immortal existence. During all those centuries he had tried to cherish them all the time, also use them as guidelines for each and each of his actions.

Unfortunately, once he had met god’s newest creation, called “Humanity” he had to learn another, rather a bitter lesson. “The seven virtues were easily moralized but barely applicable during the challenge of dealing with mankind.” 

With all his willpower he had managed to lead a life almost without disregarding any rule of heaven. Sometimes he had fallen… no tripped into a small temptation. Still his life had been a prime example of angelic virtue, at least in his own opinion.

1st of September 1939.

That day he fell for the conviction of humans being worse savages than demons. Never before he had sensed so much pain, grief, and destruction in the air. The intensity sent him to the floor. Pain struck him like a hammer smashing a hot iron into the back of his head. He heard their screams… the hail of bombs shattering thousands of innocent souls within the battlefronts.

All his efforts had been pointless. 

No matter how much he had talked or even miracled, Germany was captured in the grip of the devil, playing them like his puppets. That monster had formed them into toy soldiers, who happily indulged in the seven deadly sins now. 

When the first bullet wretched an innocent heart into pieces, humanity plunged into the darkest abyss of its history. Aziraphale stood on its edge, trying not to fall into it. Nietzsche hadn’t been right about many things, but right there the archangel learnt to believe: “If you stare into the Abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.”

Of course, the angel tried his best to limit the damage by carrying the seven virtues into the world. Back in the first world war, they had already won the battle against the seven deadly sins. So why not again?

This time… Oh lord, he had never felt weaker or more desperate than during that year.

Fate proved him wrong there only a few weeks later.

In pure despair he tried to reach out to Crowley. They hadn’t met for nearly a year, causing the angel to get more and more worried. Usually, they had always bumped into each other at a certain point. Of course, always on “accident.” Also, there was a question burning in his chest, stronger than the holy light.

“Was any of this Crowley’s fault?”

He would never accuse his old friend to be involved with the Nazis, but after all they clearly were on hell’s side. Still, he refused to believe the vicious voices inside of his head, trying to convince him his companion had started something so terrible.

It took him until the 1st of May to find a small hint about the other’s whereabouts.

A general, called Adolf Strauß, answered one of his letters, claiming they were working with Anthony J. Crowley. At that point Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to fell about that. Relieved or depressed? Also, Anthony? What kind of name was that? Nothing really traditional… 

Communication was the key to solve this situation, so he exchanged a few letters with general Strauß trying to figure out his friend’s location. All of this was wearing out his already scratched nerves. Those letters were pure torture, the way this man talked felt so fateful.

Each of his words was soaked in a devious poison. That kind of poison you finally notice, when it’s already too late.   
It had nestled inside of his chest, from there his heart pumped it through his entire system. It numbed his nerves, caused his thoughts to grow darker… and his self-esteem to hit the rock bottom.

At the verge of losing all of his hope, he gave in. He asked that scornful, nasty individual directly about Crowley’s whereabouts.

One of the biggest mistakes in his entire existence.

The answer nearly knocked him off his chair in pure shock. His hands were shivering. His throat started to burn, just like his eyes. He was on the verge of breaking down. Unbelieving he kept staring at the letters in front of him, silently begging them to reform. In his head the words stayed the same. Just like the message.

“Dear Mr. Fell,

It’s quite interesting, no, rather amusing that you played along in this game for so long. I was already starting to wonder, if you really wanted to figure out where your “friend” was or if you were enjoying getting humiliated by each of my letters.

Finally, you’ve had the courage to ask me about his fate. I am glad to tell you; he’s with us. So much to the good news.

The bad news are we have taken him to church.  
Of course, you now will be wondering why we would do that, except if we knew about his true nature. Well, let me put it like this: yes, we do.

We also know, that you aren’t a simple bookshop owner who’s worried for a friend. Are you scared now Aziraphale, guard of the eastern gate?  
Before you get into panic now, I want you to listen to my offer, before you do something unreasonable.

Your old friend was enjoying our company for quite a while now. We have all agreed, expect for him, that the St. Maria’s church in Berlin is the best place to spend some time with each other.  
Unfortunately, he isn’t as resilient as we are, his condition is worsening every day.

Before you raise your fingers now for snapping him out of here, we have to warn you. We included a very useful device in his collar, that will release holy water out of a small chamber if he gets moved too quickly or too much.

So, here’s our deal. You will bring us the books on the list attached to this letter and grant our Führer a little miracle of your own. Then we will let both of you leave.  
Yours sincerely,  
Adolf Strauß”

Even though he felt like going insane by this message. He forced himself to stay calm. Inside of his chest his heart had stopped within the first few sentences… And he swore himself it wouldn’t beat again, until he knew Crowley was safe.

In all those centuries the demon had always watched over him, protected him and now… Now he had to return this favor! 

The books weren’t his reason to worry. All of them except for one were stored up in his private library… What truly worried him was that miracle. He felt sick in the stomach, only imaging what terrible things that monster would wish for. 

Yet Aziraphale comforted himself with the conviction, that once he had gotten his old friend out of there, they could change everything. Together.

While he was hurrying around the bookshop, trying to gather all his little treasures together, another thought popped up in his mind. Immediately he froze in the middle of the room. How did the Nazis figure out their true natures? A frown scurried over his face, while he placed the first of Nostradamus’ works in the leather-bag.

Obviously, they knew who they were. Otherwise, they could have never trapped someone as cunning and distrustful as Crowley. If they had gathered enough knowledge, they probably would have taken security measures… Maybe he should call heaven and do the same?

What if they called him back up? Or even worse, forced him to stay away, so his old friend’s death would haunt him forever. His fingernails dug into the handle of the bag tighter. 

The worst scenario was, they’d let him fall, because he hadn’t worked cautiously enough and revealed their existence to humanity. The thought caused his throat to tighten, no matter how deeply he inhaled he couldn’t get oxygen into his lungs. Panic increased inside of him. 

No. No. NO. He needed solving this on his own! He could do this… he had to. For Crowley.

When he was done with packing, he straightened his shoulders. After a few deep breaths, he managed to look less panicked. Even though the despair was still visible in his eyes and the paleness of his skin. At least he hadn’t cried. A good omen, wasn’t it?

Now it was time to face that disgusting sinner.   
They had desecrated a house of god with their actions. In his mind terrible pictures formed of Crowley… His Crowley… chained up… the usually so self-assured, dominant man humiliated by a collar… Peppered with burning marks, due to the contact with consecrated ground.

Immediately, he felt nausea. With a shake of his head, he tried banishing those terrible imagines, otherwise he would have lost either his mind or control.

Instead, he snatched a piece of paper from the desk in front of him. This time he renounced the use of worthless pleasantries. He got straight to the point. A point of no return. Maybe if he had been more persistent earlier, his old friend would have already been with him at this point… No. The times of politeness was over. 

“Got all the books. Meet me at the church. Now.” He demanded, fighting back his bad conscience, usually he never ordered people around. Yet their actions have been unforgivable for him… With a snap of his fingers, the letter vanished in front of his eyes.

~Patientia lost. ~

Usually, the travel to Germany would have lasted at least 4 days, full of people calling him a traitor or even insane to voluntarily visit that hellhole. Fortunately, he could use a miracle to skip that unpleasant experience.

At his arrival, the air raid sirens greeted him with their deafening howls. Around him destruction ruled. In the air lingered the smell of fear, ashes, and death… Aziraphale felt even more sick. He avoided looking around. Here so many innocent existences had been destroyed. They needed stopping this. 

Crowley and he needed stopping this!

His eyes wandered up and down the church in front of him. There was only a little minor damage. Probably due to the air-forces using the clocktower as another landmark. What a terrible reason to reprieve holy ground, simply because it was useful in their sick twisted games… 

In the distance he could hear the panicked screams… The roaring engines of the bombers. His angelic nature could barely stand that. He wanted to help… He NEEDED to help… to help Crowley first.

~ Humanitas lost. ~

Never before he had approached a church more hesitantly. The huge gates looked more like the gate towards the bottomless pit. Inside of him his mortal guts had entirely forgotten how to function. Only his determined thoughts were forcing him to step closer to the wooden door.

Before he could lay a hand onto the handle, he closed his eyes for a few seconds. Calm. He needed staying calm. No matter what he’d see now, the greater good was more important!

With a creaking sound, that caused his blood to freeze, he pulled down the doorknob. He took a step after the other, finally overstepping the doorstep. Inside not the usually calming and loving aura greeted him. 

He was surrounded by darkness.

“There shall be light.” He whispered hurriedly, before his anxiety could take over. Immediately the church was illuminated by pure, white light. The benches were empty. Everything looked desolated. His knees were shivering, while he walked towards the altar. Where did they hide? Was this all a game of hide and seek?

He looked around, trying to get rid of the paranoid thoughts that in the dark those monsters were lurking at him. No matter, where he turned, he couldn’t spot a single soul. Neither Crowley… Nor those sinners.

“Good evening Mr. Fell. I’m afraid you won’t spot what you’re searching for.” A dark voice purred.

Immediately he spun around. The source had been close to the doors. He even dropped the books, while trying to look defensive.

“Nice trick with the light.” The stranger complimented him, scornfully. “A true angel… Hm… I would have expected something more… awe-inspiring to be honest.” A dark chuckle followed. The heavy German accent became more obvious with every word.

Aziraphale knew who he was dealing with right away. “General Strauß, where is Crowley? I brought the books.” He hissed, secretly surprised by the hate his words were soaked in.

The entire situation made him uncomfortable, he couldn’t see the man’s face. It was still too dark in the room. All he could spot was the bulky stature of the silhouette hiding in the shadow behind the door.

Fate did him another “favor.”

In its hands something light up. For a mere second he had to turn his glance away, for getting unblinded. Every lightning would have been jealous of the brightness. The angel was caught off guard, causing his concentration to snap. The holy light around them extinguished.

“That’s impossible…” he whispered full of disbelief; his voice nearly cracked in fear.

“Recognize this?” the man’s voice asked him again. Steps approached him. Too paralyzed to run, Aziraphale stood there, trying to turn his face towards that monster.

“How did you… Impossible… God have mercy…” the angel muttered, silently praying his procrastination wasn’t true. It was… Finally, his eyes had gotten used to the light. That mortal… That worthless mortal was holding his sword. The sword he had given to humanity, so they’d use it for the greater good. Now that savage was holding it. Even turning it against him… 

~ Humilitas lost. ~

“There is no God, expect for the Führer.” General Strauß corrected him. The tall man stood in front of him. His mocking gaze wandering over the weak creature in front of him, almost pitying him.

“Aren’t you ashamed of your blasphemies?” the angel growled, eyes not turning away from the flaming sword inside those bloody hands. He couldn’t show more fear. Otherwise, this was already a lost battle. “We had a deal. Where is Crowley?” he demanded to know, but only earned another dark chuckle.

The general played with the sword in his hands, purposely approaching him a little more. “You know what those flames are made off, aren’t you?” he purred, trying to elicit that fearful word from him.

Aziraphale did his best not to stumble backwards, when he felt the heat so close to his skin. He swallowed the barbed wire, holding his tongue hostage. The word slipping past his lips sounded like his own death sentence. “Purgatory.”

“Exactly.” The military man praised him, like an obedient dog. 

Before he could continue to humiliate him, the angel felt his patience snap. “Spare me that nasty show. Answer my question. Or I swear to God, I will send you to hell myself! You’ve pleaded yourself guilty in so many points, purgatory won’t be enough for you. You’ve got one last chance.” His words were filled with so much rage, while he even dared to step closer. “Where. Is. Crowley?” he repeated himself one final time. Brown orbs filled with the same terrifying intensity as the sword’s blade.

~ Temperantia lost. ~

“Look, the angel dares to man up. What a refreshing turn.” Adolf replied, the scornful smirk upon his lips didn’t flicker for a second. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but he’s not here. We changed our plans in the last seconds.” He revealed to him, leaning forward a little. 

“You did what?” Aziraphale blurted out in disbelief. “Then we don’t have a deal.” He added resolutely. His mind was racing. Damn… Damn… He had run into such an obvious trap. Perhaps he could still leave if he reacted quickly enough now. 

“Yes, you’re right, but we don’t need an agreement here.” The soldier shrugged carelessly. The predatory spark in his eyes intensified. “Fortunately, our new plans work without your consent.” He added, stepping aside a little, so he could walk past him.

“What else do you want? I promise you; it will be easier to find an agreement with me than dealing with hell’s wrath, when they find out you’ve captured their ambassador.” He threated, while slowly walking past him. Hopefully, he’d fall for that trick.

“Thank you for worrying about our wellbeing Mr. Fell. However, he won’t dare to notify his principalities since he’s convinced, we have you under our force.” The general crunched his plan under his foot like a plague.

The angel froze. “He’s what?!” he asked, staring at the man in pure horror. 

“It was so easy to lure him into this trap, after we had convinced him you were under our force. He’s come to save his angel, isn’t that lovely?” Adolf explained to him in pure sadistic satisfaction.

“No, he’d never do… Not for me…” Aziraphale stuttered out. A wave of guilt crashed over his head, nearly making his legs give out.

A few seconds later something else caused his knees to give in. His hesitation had made him stop right under the gallery. “Jetzt!” screamed Strauß.

Pain as if he had been showered with melted copper rushed through the angel, causing him to scream out. The torture ate deeper into his skin the more he struggled. The cold ground hit his face, when he stumbled forward. Still he tried fighting off the source of his suffering. 

The more he struggled the worse it got. His strength was vanishing rapidly. Every inch of his skin was burning. As if a hot wire wrapped around his limps, cutting them off mercilessly. Out of desperation he unfolded his wings. Light flooded the room. Followed by another pained scream. 

His breath faltered, causing him to gasp for air. Again, and Again he hit the floor whenever he tried flying away. The weight of a thousand tons laid on his shoulders. When his power was used up, he crashed onto the blood smeared tiles once again. The burning decreased, was replaced by a constant throbbing in each of his nerves. At this point he was on the edge of passing out. “Crowley…” he whimpered, still trying to get away for the sake of his friend.

“Like it? We’ve formed a net out of wire forged in purgatory, extinguished with the blood of a few hundred Jews.” The general introduced him to their newest cruelty. 

He picked up a feather from the ground. Damn he had enjoyed the show of him flapping in that net like a terrified spat. The only answer he received was a groan, followed by more sobs. “No, no, don’t cry.” He scolded him, while walking closer. 

“Aren’t those wings beautiful? That’s what I mean, when I talk about an angel.” He complimented him in a hideous way. His fingers caressed over the golden-glowing, white bones from where the feathers emerged. “too bad we have to prune them.” He added sadistically, while lifting the sword up in his hands.

An unbelievable pain rushed through Aziraphale’s entire body, causing him to bite his lip bleeding, before he screamed. He screamed out his soul, when the muscles of his wings were chopped into half by the flaming sword. His mind couldn’t bear it… From one second to the other, everything went black.

Meanwhile, the marbled, white floor of the church had turned into a bloody masterpiece. Every slaughterhouse would have been jealous of the crimson red painting on the tiles. The artist stood in front of it, admiring its beauty, while purring: “Welcome to hell, Aziraphale, guardian angel of the eastern gate.”


End file.
